The House Saphir by Marissa Meyer - 41

“That took long enough,” Mallory grunted, lowering Armand’s body to the ground.

“Sorry,” said Fitcher as he and Constantino emerged from behind a wall of brambles. “He didn’t drink much during the ceremony, otherwise it would have affected him sooner.”

“Let’s be grateful he didn’t try to kill you,” said Constantino. “As soon as this so-called Le Bleu knows what we’re up to, things will get a lot more complicated.”

Fitcher’s expression was irate. “You were supposed to keep at least three paces between you two so Constantino could shoot him if he attacked you.”

“Don’t you see?” said Constantino. “It was impossible for her to resist his magnetic allure. At times I was sure I could see bolts of lightning flash between your very souls! I am most impressed, bellissima.” Constantino nudged Mallory with his elbow. “You play the icy part well, but I see now there is a fire burning deep. It just required the right lover to stoke the flame.”

“Please stop talking,” said Mallory, “or I will vomit ceremonial wine all over your fancy boots.”

Constantino took a step back, his grin teasing. “I am not fooled. You have a romantic’s soul, no matter how you try to hide it.”

She shot him a scathing look, before addressing Fitcher. “Where is my sister?”

“Keeping an eye on the staff. They each took a third glass when offered. Hopefully they made it back to the house before falling unconscious.” He gave a sullen nod at Armand. “Shall we?”

Mallory walked ahead, carrying Armand’s feet while Fitcher and Constantino—already tired from clearing fallen tree branches earlier—took turns at his head and shoulders.

By the time they reached the chapel, deep among the gardens, Anaïs had worked herself into a frenzy.

“Oh, thank the gods,” she said, pulling Mallory into an embrace. “Did he try something?”

Mallory hesitated, unsure if confessing one’s innermost emotions counted as trying something . “No. He just wanted to talk. How are the others?”

“We weren’t even out of the forest before they passed out. I was able to find shelter for them under a pine tree.” She nervously chewed her pinkie nail. “I hope they won’t be too upset when they wake up.”

Inside the chapel, Anaïs had pushed the benches against the walls, leaving an open space in front of the altar where Mallory’s drawing portfolio was open to the page where they had written the detailed notes about every type of spirit possession Gabrielle and Fitcher had ever heard of.

Anaïs had also sneaked a chair out of the house while Armand and the “acolytes” hunted monsters. The chair itself had been tucked away in a salon that apparently hadn’t been used in decades, and its damask fabric was frayed and moth-eaten.

As soon as they’d settled Armand’s unconscious form onto the chair, Fitcher set to work strapping down his arms and legs with the belts and ropes they’d scavenged while Gabrielle—still a barn swallow—hopped anxiously back and forth on the altar.

They had barely finished when Armand coughed, head lolling heavily to one side. His eyes opened into a squint, trying to focus as he peered around the chapel, finally landing on Mallory. Confusion drew across his features. With a stunted exhale, his head fell against the back of the seat. “Mal … what—” He frowned then and looked down at his arms, held tight against the chair. “What’s going on?”

“Congratulations!” said Constantino. “We are gathered here today to celebrate your exorcism.”

Two hours later, it was apparent that they had been overconfident. Fitcher claimed to be a scholar of all sorts of magic—dark, petty, god-given, fae, sorcery. Though he had no magic himself, he had been certain that between him, Gabrielle, and the sisters’ connection to Velos, they would quickly find a spell to break Bastien’s hold over Armand.

Fitcher had prepared for three different exorcism rituals, and they had worked diligently to follow his instructions down to the finest detail. They had burned hazel and pine branches. Draped carved runes over Armand’s neck. Anointed him with water that Fitcher insisted came straight from the delta of the Eptanie River, where Freydon was said to have bathed. They had collected blood from Armand’s fingers. Saliva from his mouth. Hair from his scalp. They had chanted and sung and burned candles and held hands and tossed so many different types of herbs at Armand’s feet that Mallory wasn’t sure if they were trying to purify him or prepare him for a stew.

Nothing worked. There was no noticeable change, other than Armand being a little damp and stiflingly aromatic. What Fitcher had assured her would be a simple, everyday exorcism was proving to be more complicated. Either that, or …

“Are you sure he’s possessed?” Constantino asked, sitting on the altar and letting Gabrielle peck sunflower seeds from his palm.

“Either he’s possessed by a murderous ghost or he’s a murderer,” said Mallory. “For once in my life, I’m trying to be an optimist.”

“I appreciate your confidence in me,” Armand deadpanned.

Constantino gave Mallory a sympathetic look. “I believe in optimism, but, stellina … I do not think there is a ghost here.”

“Would the two of you stop talking?” said Fitcher, who had become increasingly irate with every failed attempt. He was bent over a fae spell book he’d brought from his collection in the stagecoach, trying to parse the tiny handwriting, which he claimed was in an unusual dialect that required more time than usual to decipher. “We need a colt’s foot for this one.” He looked up apol ogetically. “Don’t suppose there are any expendable horses in the stables?”

Anaïs gasped. “You will not!”

“I’m no expert in fae magic, like you are,” said Armand, his sarcasm evident, “but could it possibly be referring to coltsfoot, the plant?”

Fitcher bent back over the pages. “Actually, yes. I think it might.”

Armand rolled his eyes. “Leaves or flowers?”

“Er … leaves?”

“Good, because it won’t bloom again until the spring, though I have some dried petals in the kitchen. But you can find fresh leaves in the conservatory. Coltsfoot is in a glazed yellow pot in the northeast corner. Its leaves are shaped like a lily pad, softly scalloped on the edges, bright green but tinted gray on the underside. They smell a bit like sweet vinegar.”

Fitcher signaled to Constantino, who seemed more than happy—relieved, even—to take off on the mission to secure said plant.

As the door swung shut, Armand sighed in exasperation, staring up at the cobweb-cluttered beams that crisscrossed the vaulted ceiling. He had taken the whole exorcism thing in stride so far, even commenting on occasion as different pieces of his own life fit into place, and curious experiences began to make sense. He insisted that he, more than anyone, would love to eradicate his great-great-grandfather before Bastien could harm anyone else.

But Mallory got the feeling that this desperate attempt from a fae grimoire could be their last. If this failed, they would have to assume that Le Bleu was not possessing Armand at all—at least, not at the moment. In which case, they would have to exorcise the spirit from the house itself.

And as far as Mallory could tell, no one had the faintest idea how to do that.

Gnawing on her knuckle, Mallory glanced at Armand—and caught him watching her. His hooded eyes held a sadness that struck her heart as surely as one of Constantino’s arrows.

If he was a monster, then he was frighteningly adept at hiding it.

She sighed. She would never know what was true and what was false, not until this ordeal was over. Not until Le Bleu was gone for good, and she could trust that when she peered into Armand’s eyes, it was Armand looking back at her.

“This whole time,” he said slowly, “this is what you’ve thought of me.”

She self-consciously folded her arms across her chest. “Not the whole time.”

“No? Did you begin to suspect I might want to kill you before or after I actually tried to kill you?”

She wasn’t sure how to explain to Armand that it wasn’t personal. “I generally assume most people want to kill me,” she admitted. “You’ll recall that I did think you were attacking me when you arrived for the tour.”

“Of course. So, literally, from the first moment of our acquaintance, then. I’ve been trying to court you, like an absolute fool, while you feared for your life.”

At this, Mallory guffawed, which she quickly realized was not the best knee-jerk reaction she could have had to this confession. Fitcher and Anaïs, no doubt embarrassed on her behalf, awkwardly busied themselves with trivial tasks.

“I only feared for my life occasionally.” She scratched at the itchy fabric of her collar, not daring to admit that his romantic interest in her was one of the most suspicious things about him.

“Only occasionally,” Armand repeated, discouraged. “How illuminating. Because unlike you, I’ve spent every moment since we met searching for ways to see you, to talk to you. Wondering what might make you want to stay after the job was finished. Trying to convey how much I enjoy your company, how much I—” He let out an unruly laugh—a little flustered, a little angry. “There were times I thought maybe it was mutual, but in actuality … you were … what? Being nice, so I wouldn’t murder you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. “We both know I’m not that nice.”

“No, we don’t both know that. Mallory—”

“Also,” she interrupted, “don’t act as if you weren’t lying to me this whole time.”

He started to shout, his arms straining against the ropes. “I didn’t know I was being possessed!”

She stood over him, hands fisted on her hips. “But you knew you were bankrupt!”

Surprise flashed across his features, and he jolted back against the seat again, anger evaporating.

“Three thousand lourdes, that’s what you promised me.” Mallory jabbed a finger at him. “Three thousand lourdes to finish this job. Money that you don’t have. And oh! Take this precious medallion as proof of my good intentions, Mallory. It’s priceless! Use it as collateral! Clearly, you have no reason to doubt me . I’m a fancy count .” She dug the medallion out from her collar and yanked it off over her head. She threw it into Armand’s lap, pleased at how he flinched. She bent forward, snarling. “What was your plan, exactly? Let me and Anaïs deal with your ghost problems, then call in the investigators and have us shipped off to jail?”

“Of course not.”

“No? Then what? Because we clearly weren’t getting any of those coins you promised us.”

“I was desperate,” he said. “I needed help and didn’t know where else to go. I hoped once the ghost was dealt with, we could hire new staff, the vineyards would be tended to again, after a few years the winery would be profitable—”

“A few years? What were we supposed to do until then, while we waited for you to get your affairs in order?”

“I don’t know! Stay with me?” He looked almost pleading. Almost hopeful. “Once you were here, I hoped that … I didn’t want you to leave.”

“That isn’t your decision to make.”

“I know. I would have told you.”

“When? After we got rid of Le Bleu? How about the monsters? How about—”

Anaïs loudly cleared her throat. “Perhaps,” she said mildly, pressing a hand on Mallory’s arm, “this would be a good time to tell Lord Armand that we are not actually—”

Mallory yanked her arm away. “It most certainly would not be a good time . ”

Anaïs drew back. “All right. Maybe later, then.”

“Tell me what?” Armand asked.

“Nothing,” they said in unison.

Eyes darkening with suspicion, Armand continued, “Why are you here if you knew I couldn’t pay you and that Bastien wants one of you dead?” He shook his head. “Why did you come back?”

Mallory’s heart was a deafening staccato beat in her ears as she stared down at him. After a moment, she lifted her chin and proclaimed, “Because it was the right thing to do.”

Fitcher choked, clapping a hand to his mouth. Even Gabrielle let out a disappointed whistle.

“What?” she snapped at them.

With an equally unconvinced smirk, Armand asked, “And now for the real reason?”

“ Because ,” she said forcefully, “you have some foul, manipulative spirit living inside of you, controlling you like a puppet master, making foolish girls swoon at your feet, and I find that intolerable. I will stop him. And when we are finished here, I will let the world know that I was the one to defeat the infamous Monsieur Le Bleu.” She smiled wickedly. “It will be very good for business.”

“In theory, I’ll have had something to do with it,” said Anaïs. “And Fitcher, and Constantino…”

“Not the point,” said Mallory.

Armand was watching Mallory with thoughtfully narrowed eyes. “Are you one of the foolish girls in this scenario?”

“What?”

“The ones who supposedly swooned at my feet. Are you including yourself?”

She bristled, unable to tell if he was mocking her. “Don’t insult me.”

“Is that…” The wrinkle pinched between his brows. “Do you think it was him? Bastien? This whole time?”

She didn’t respond.

A bellowing laugh escaped from Armand. “Oh, it just gets better. Not only did you think I might try to murder you, but you also assumed that my pathetic attempts at romance were the ghost .”

“Given the situation, I do not think it implausible that Bastien could have been manipulating me … through you.”

Armand leaned forward, as much as he could against his restraints. “And yet, as far as we can surmise, he is not here. Not right now. So, Mallory. Do you believe it is Bastien talking to you at this moment? Saying that you are both the most clever and the most frustrating person I’ve ever met? And that when this is over, I don’t want you to leave .”

Though her pulse raced, Mallory slipped a step away from him. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? I don’t know how to tell.”

Armand released his breath in one disgruntled huff. “I didn’t expect courting a girl to be easy, but I didn’t think I would be so bad at it.”

“You aren’t,” she said. “It’s just that he was so very good at it.”

“Actually,” said Fitcher, daring to intrude on a conversation he’d respectfully avoided thus far, “given that Savoy blood was already spilled in service to the spell, Monsieur Le Bleu does not require another marriage vow—not so long as his final sacrifice is either you or your sister.”

“I know that,” Mallory growled.

“I’m pointing out that he has no reason to try to seduce you. He only has to kill you.”

Bristling, Mallory said, “Maybe he enjoys toying with his prey.”

Fitcher grinned sardonically. “Or maybe it was Armand after all.”

“What a novel concept,” Armand said. “Maybe I’m not possessed. Maybe I just like you.”

“You— he —tried to strangle me.”

“Well, clearly I was possessed then .”

“So you see the confusion!” Throwing her arms into the air, Mallory stomped away and slumped down on one of the benches.

She was grateful when Constantino returned carrying a bundle of leaves. “Is this the right one?” he asked, holding it up.

They looked at Armand, who nodded.

Fitcher set aside the grimoire, his expression clouded.

“Great. What do we need to do? Grind it up? Burn it? Weave the strands into his hair?” Constantino studied Armand’s head. “I think it’s long enough…”

“Nothing,” said Fitcher with a drawn-out sigh. “There is no point.”

“Excuse me?”

“I am sorry for the effort you went through to obtain this ingredient, but I believe this is a waste of our time. Bastien is not here.”

Armand swiveled his head toward Fitcher. “How do you know?”

“Because I know that is the right plant,” he said, “as I’ve found a detailed illustration of it in the grimoire. If you were being controlled by Bastien, you never would have admitted as much, as I have to imagine that Bastien does not wish to be expelled from the vessel he has chosen.”

Armand wrinkled his nose, mystified. “That’s it, then? I have spilled my heart out for this past hour. I have”—he tried to raise his arm, but settled with gesturing with his fingers—“confessed, not only to Mallory but to a room full of strangers, that I am utterly smitten with her. And yet, this is when you choose to believe that I might actually be me, and not some hundred-year-old murderer? Because I correctly identified some leaves?”

“Sometimes the simplest tests are the most accurate,” said Fitcher. “I believe he has been telling you the truth.”

Armand let out an annoyed snort, and Mallory wondered if he would still have any warm feeling toward her when this was over.

“But what does that mean?” said Anaïs. “That Armand tried to strangle Mallory, by his own will?”

“No,” said Fitcher. “It would seem that Bastien can choose when to inhabit his vessel—”

“Please stop calling me that.”

“And when to be separate from him.”

“But if he isn’t here now,” said Constantino, “then where is he?”

Gabrielle let out a racket of excited tweets, then stopped suddenly and shook out her wings. A moment later, she emerged from the bird’s form, a woman once more—naked and perched on the altar with wide, darting eyes. “But this is a good thing!”

Armand yelped and shoved at the floor so hard that the chair toppled over backward. He landed with a pained grunt. “Who is she?” he yelled.

“That’s Gabrielle Savoy,” said Mallory. “It’s a long story. What do you mean, this is a good thing?”

Constantino gamely helped Armand upright again as Gabrielle shunned the robe that Fitcher offered her and excitedly explained, “We feared we would have to disentangle Bastien’s spirit from Armand’s, but as that is not the case, we can proceed with the dissolution of the spell. His dark magic, left unfinished, is what has kept me tied to this world. It is what has tethered the spirits of his other wives to the rings that were used in his ritual. But if we finish the ritual ourselves, we can loosen the binds of this magic upon the house and not only free his victims, but also cast the monster himself back to Verloren.”

“Finish the ritual?” said Mallory. “You mean, the one in which one of us gets sacrificed?” She gestured between herself and Anaïs.

“One-two-three, not it,” said her sister.

“As our goal is not immortality,” said Gabrielle, “no further sacrifice is required. We need only to untie the threads of magic that are holding him here, holding all of us—and summon Velos to claim what is rightfully theirs.”

“Oh, right, we’ll just summon the god of death,” said Constantino. “So simple.”

Gabrielle’s head twitched to one side, then the other. “It is not difficult magic to open a gateway into the land of the lost. I have done it many times.” She peered at Mallory. “ You have done it, too.”

Mallory shivered. “That turned out to be a mistake.”

“This time, I will help you.” Gabrielle gave her head a shake. “If this is to work, we are going to need those rings.”